Redacted
by Fanfiction's Rookie
Summary: It was an odd thing, to be dead in the eyes of the world...


**A/N: A special thank you to actualbampot and DominicSilverstein for beta'ing this. If I owned RWBY, this would be reality.**

* * *

It was an odd thing, to be dead in the eyes of the world, to be crossed out on hit lists and pay rolls while your grave remained empty. For it meant that only those caught in the same state of limbo, would be able to see you. When someone did see you, it was with long lost recognition. The sudden intimacy of such an acknowledgement often came with equal dread and relief.

Navigating rotting streets bustling with starving vendors and illiterate tourists, stirred up by exotic spices and ocean breeze, a golden eye caught Ruby in the surrounding chaos. For a single moment, Ruby felt seen, naked in front of the woman who dove into her silver gaze and tug at the harrowing secrets underneath. Only for that eye to shut out of existence, leaving Ruby alone and among the dead as the sun bled into the horizon,

Desperate to escape the enclosing darkness Ruby searched for that flame. It would have been impossible, had Ruby not only needed to look in places that were completely empty. The woman crept into the slums' shrouded corners, following the neon trail of flickering bar signs. Only to be led to dead ends. She was the kind of woman you'd only find if you weren't looking for her at all. So how surprising was it when Ruby found that woman hidden under the veil of plain sight, slowly fading into the backdrop of a tailor shop.

With time, a cautious gaze that played with her at an arm's length, turned into fleeting smiles and lingering touches. Those touches pulled Ruby into the familiarity that became each other's company.

Once a stranger…acquaintance…friend… now her lover.

Cinder.

A name? A lie? An invention? Irrelevant. The dead have no need for names.

A name said nothing, not when compared to how Cinder could rip it out of Ruby's throat. And when the woman's lustrous tone snaked around Ruby's name, it made her shudder in anticipation. That kind of excitement, would eventually slow to an incomprehensible drawl, when intoxication and fatigue blurred into the early morning hours. These moments were spent hidden from the perpetual tap-tap of rain against the roof of woven reeds and broken planks.

That's not to say the blanket-wrapped solitude Ruby found comfort in didn't get stifling at times.

When restlessness whispered and curiosity tugged from across the ocean, Ruby would look for the outside world on her lover's back. Black swirls of ink-chained myths of Grimm, surrounded the all-seeing eye of a forgotten syndicate. And if Ruby wanted to look further into decades past, she would drag her nails across Cinder's back.

Caught in the ecstacy of her lover's teeth latching onto her neck, fingers sliding into the slick heat between her legs at an arduous pace, Ruby sunk her nails into black ink and the stories trapped underneath. The marred remains of whip marks, gashes, burns and brands cried of betrayal and neglect. Ruby would never trace them back into Cinder's memory. For that would be just as cruel as inflicting them, herself.

In the dead of the night, with the ocean breeze and cricket chirps drifting past the sliding door, Cinder would lie down on the worn couch. All while Ruby kneaded the agitation out of her shoulders. Only for her hands to snake around and cup deliciously full breasts. Gentle but firm in her intent, Ruby massaged the woman's supple skin at a leisurely pace. Occasionally flicking nails over her nipple when she wanted to hear that muddled hum of pleasure. With nothing more, she could coax Cinder into calm with words sweetly whispered against her skin.

On certain occasions, when Ruby was feeling especially wired, buzzing with built up tension, Cinder would let herself be pulled down as Ruby captured her lips in a searing kiss. That rare moment of relinquished power only fed Ruby's hunger for more. Cinder was as potent as any drug. Ruby was addicted. But with addiction came withdrawal whenever her lover decided to be difficult out of amused spite.

Frustration bled into desire. It was a dangerous mixture that left Ruby cussing under her breath, gripping and shoving until Cinder was pinned to the wall, hands above her head. Under Ruby's palm, suicide's echo, crossed out the six digit number on Cinder's wrist. Another thought Ruby dare not address.

Asking would give Cinder a past that was more than scraps of childish innocence and present days of complacent labour. Knowing would make her alive again, seen to the people Cinder had desperately clawed away from. No longer would Ruby be able to look into that half lidded eye, glinting with mischief and restrained desire. Instead it would mirror the scars and numbing pain of her unseeing eye.

Why would she want to hear such meaningless truths, when Ruby could listen to Cinder's thundering heartbeat and erratic breaths. She could feel her grasping, digging sharp nails into her side and neck as she drove her closer and closer to climax. With one final thrust pushing her over the edge and into the deep, Cinder's mouth spilled choked words in a language Ruby could not understand.

Those moments were rare, and despite not being able to grasp their meaning, nothing sounded more loving. Nothing was more vulnerable. That vulnerability, a silver chain and its tilted symbol of rebellion tightening around Ruby's neck, a live man's noose that held no repercussions for the dead. Ruby's grip, tangled in Cinder's hair. It dug into her side, constricted like the silver chain leaving nothing but scorching heat, a lovers' scent and coming undone with the gift of breath.

Life, even when twisted into something that became her execution, Ruby could not give it all away. Instead she traded the safety of ignorance for false passports and acid-burnt finger tips. But no matter how far a person traveled, there would always be a trail and Ruby, Cinder observed, was no exception.

Tucked inside the pockets of a scarcely used winter coat, Cinder would find a loaded gun, clearly marked with an Atlesian serial number. The bullets? In a separate box underneath a loose floorboard amongst scraps of newspapers and a dead, disconnected scroll. From there, the trail grew stale.

Cinder had to pay close attention, patient and cautious when tracing the connecting line between the bullet wounds on Ruby's arm…her side…her leg…her thigh. While those scars had faded, they remained fresh in Ruby's mind. If Cinder stared long enough, Ruby's gaze would shift to the side, biting her lip before the woman hesitantly opened her mouth to speak.

Cinder never let her.

Her lover's guilt and lingering fear threatened to expose the truth. It naively clung to the hope that it would lighten the burden she had to carry, but at what cost? No matter how deep Cinder had buried herself in secrecy, the walls were always listening. She had no choice but to seal her lover's paradox with a kiss.

Only for the traces to linger on her tongue and fingers dipping into Ruby's mouth, gracing against her teeth until she felt the absence of one at the very back. That empty space Cinder found that when prodded, made Ruby whimper and bite down a tad harder. It was another sore spot, an uncut thread that linked her to the living.

Ruby still remembered, still needed time for the wounds to fade, even if they will never heal. The prospect of a person who could still hear the calls beyond their isolation unsettled Cinder; Unsettled because she herself would never admit to being afraid.

Shielding Ruby from the same fear, Cinder pulled her into a comforting embrace. Sinking into soothing waters that bled cheap, crimson hair dye she combed her fingers through Ruby's haphazardly cut hair. Massaging nonsense patterns into her scalp, Cinder watched with a half lidded gaze as her lover smiled and sighed with content. Draped in a veil of steam with the familiar weight of her lover's back pressed against her chest, Cinder allowed herself to shut her eyes.

When they opened again, it was to mirror the rising sun slowly creeping over the horizon, over things no ordinary person would ever be privy to. Crowded food markets sold drugs and weapons alike, bars and hospitals had become synonymous and the harbour's only export is disease ridden refugees.

But under the leaking roof of a seaside cabana, nestled between coarse covers and the warmth of her lover's touch, Cinder found that she had no desire to leave.

No desire to be alive once more.

For one whose existence remained to be nothing but old newspaper clippings and terrorist statistics it was an odd thing to be dead in the eyes of the world.


End file.
